There are legions of stories of gay couples who either moved to Los Angeles and soon broke up, and the undoubted reason is the temptation to stray when faced with an unquenchable supply of perfectly bodied, fresh-faced men. I had never truly accepted that the men in Los Angeles were so much better looking than the men in San Francisco until we went to the Mayan, a very late night dance in the early morning of Halloween. Ben had long filled me with tales of how great the Mayan events are, and this was my first experience of it.

By some strange logic, the party didn't even begin until 2.30 in the morning. Apparently, the thing to do is to go to bed early Saturday night, and sleep until it's time to get ready. So that's what Ben and I tried to do. After an early dinner, we climbed into bed around nine. Ben has an enviable facility for sleep. He'll frequently be asleep within a minute or so of saying goodnight. I can usually tell because he always falls asleep with my arms around him, and then he starts twitching spasmodically in his sleep.

After an hour, Saturday night, of my usual tossing and turning, I turned on my back with a sigh, and looked over at Ben. To my surprise, he opened his eyes and smiled back at me. He wasn't able to sleep either. So we decided just to get up and go rent a movie, to pass the hours until it was time to get ready to go out. Then we realized with a shock that, of course, the clocks would go back an hour at midnight, which meant that we had four hours to kill instead of three. So eventually we decided to give sleep another chance; this time Ben was more successful, while I gave up again after thirty minutes, and went into the living room with some blankets, and a good book.

By half past midnight, it was time to start getting ready. Since we knew we'd be getting to bed very, very late, and we also knew that there would be an open house in Ben's place at one in the afternoon, we'd decided to crash after the party at Bill and Stefan's place. So we had to tidy the place up for the open house, and take our overnight stuff, as well as the dogs. We all piled into my car, and headed off along the almost deserted Los Angeles freeways shortly before two.

My costume for the late night party at the Mayan

There was a large assemblage of our friends gathering at Bill and Stefan's, and everybody did a double take at the sight of my pants - the extremely exotic pants I'd splurged on in Berlin. Ben was wearing the same costume he wore for the Venician Carnival ball on the cruise - tight, low-hanging red sweat pants and a red mask. Almost everybody else was going as a bare-chested cowboy, adding to their ensemble, with irrefutable logic, body glitter.

By two thirty we descended the lush Hollywood hill, where Bill and Stefan live, in a convoy of cars, and drove downtown to the Mayan, an old Egyptian-style theater palace. When we got there, the place was already crowded with half-naked men, and the towering columns covered with hyrogliphics were dimly illuminated, making you feel you were in some sort of ancient tomb. And I guess the truly beautiful men only come out for the special events. Here and there, you'd see a tall, striking, amazingly built young man - the sort of man you'd ordinarily only see in the sexiest photo shoot. If I'd been a single man, I think I'd have felt like a kid in a candy shop.

As always, though, it was the purest sort of joy to be out dancing with Ben, and his friends. Actually, although his friends did add to my enjoyment, the truth is that they were superfluous. When we're out dancing together, the universe seems to shrink to just the space right around where we're dancing. And it did, indeed, prove to be a very late night. Around six, a pale light began to be visible through the fire escapes, which provided a sudden jolt of reality. By seven-thirty when we left, in the company of Bill, Stefan and their friend Jose, it was already warm and sunny outside. It was certainly the latest I'd ever come out of a dance club. Note to self: body glitter loses its allure in the sunlight.

We drove back to Bill and Stefan's place. It felt rather bizarre to be going to bed on such a beautiful morning, but that's what we did, plying ourselves with a measured amount off prescription sleep aids to ensure a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. When we got up, around one in the afternoon, it was a gorgeous, warm day. Ben and I took the dogs through a secluded trail along a ridge of the hills, taking our shirts off to enjoy the warmth of the sun on our skin. There was a deliciously comfortable feeling of languor. When we reached the end of the trail, we stood, with me holding Ben in my arms from behind, and enjoyed the view out over the hills, with downtown LA to our right, and the Hollywood sign to our left. I have to say that experiencing days like this in late October is one of the joys of living in Los Angeles.

When we got home, Bill and Stefan had roused themselves, and we all drove down the hill into Hollywood for a huge, well-deserved (we must each have lost a pound or two overnight) brunch at Mels Diner. After returning to Bill and Stefan's place and lounging on their deck in the warm, afternoon sunshine for a while, Ben and I finally drove home and took a long nap. When we awoke, around seven in the evening, it was time to get excited for yet another costume opportunity: the Halloween Parade in West Hollywood. Ben was tired, and didn't seem too excited at the idea of driving back over the hills on a Sunday evening, and trying to find parking in the traffic mess that would be West Hollywood on Halloween night. But I think he felt duty bound to humor my desire to experience my first West Hollywood halloween. So he dressed himself in jeans, a denim western shirt and a sexy cowboy hat, while I opted for something more daring - low-hung, tight-fitting sweatpants (again, purchased in Berlin), and a football player's shoulder pads (a skeletal - and hence skimpier - pair meant to be worn underneath the proper, more substantial pads). Oh, and body glitter once again.

Football player costume for the Halloween Parade

It took us forever to navigate through the streets and find parking, and when we did, it was at the Beverly Center, well over a mile away from the Parade. But it was a comfortable night to be walking around wearing hardly anything, and there were festive crowds strolling up La Cienega. I was chicken for a while, and wore a sweater until we reached Santa Monica Boulevard. But soon, encouraged by some of the risque costumes that began to appear as we walked along the boulevard, I took my sweater off and strutted along, feeling rather studly, I have to say. It's ironic: I grew up with such a wretched body image. Yet here I am in the world capital of beautiful people, and I'm getting more validating attention than I've ever had in my life. If there didn't remain the huge core of self doubt deep inside me, I'd probably start taking people's attention seriously and become insufferable. The truth is, though, that I'm coming to the conclusion that I do indeed have a great body (for what it's worth), particularly given my height. And Ben's got a big enough heart that instead of being jealous of the attention I get, he's proud. I doubt I'd have such a noble reaction if things were reversed.

After stopping off briefly at Albert's place to say hi, we continued pushing through the crowds along Santa Monica Boulevard, before doubling back and going into the crowded Rage dance club, where we danced for forty five minutes or so. Ben looked extremely fetching in his cowboy hat and open denim shirt. If I had been at Rage by myself, he's undoubtedly the guy I'd have gravitated towards. Finally, around eleven thirty, we called it a night, and took the long walk back to the Beverly Center. I regretted that it was a school night, because it would have been so much fun to stay out and enjoy the crowds. But, all together, it had been a hugely enjoyable, hedonistic weekend.